by W. R. Benton
Stopping on the main roadway, Popoff exited his car and stood in the warm morning sun. Falin, as the Junior Officer, was barking orders to the Russian infantry as they lined up for movement toward the hill.
Popoff pulled his pistol from his holster and then said, “Come to me, Major, so we can discuss this after looking it over with binoculars first. We can expect mines and booby-traps, if those are not Americans on the crosses. Be sure to wa—”
As Major Falin was looking at Popoff, a perfectly round circle appeared slightly above the Colonel's right eye and then the back of his head exploded. Bone, blood, brain and gore flew from his head to land on the nearby staff car. Falin attempted to move, but before he'd even realized Popoff had been shot, he felt a hard blow to his back. Falling to the ground, face down, he looked at the early morning dew on individual blades of grass and smiled, because he felt no pain. His world slowly faded from full light to darkness and then Major Falin died.
Sergeant Shubin, the senior man now alive yelled, “Sniper!”
After the men were hidden, one Private asked, “What do we do now, Sergeant?”
“Radio man, come to me.” Shubin said, ignoring the man's question.
A man ran to Shubin and fell to the grasses beside him. Taking the handset offered by the man, the Sergeant said, “Black Shark One, this is Camp Three, I have a sniper in the trees approximately two hundred meters west of my position.”
“Copy, Camp Three, a sniper in tree line approximately two hundred meters from your position. Get your heads down, I am rolling in hot now.”
Raising his head, which brought a shot from the sniper that clipped his left ear lobe, Shubin screamed, “Everyone down now! The Black Shark is attacking the woods!”
The chopper used Gatling guns on the first pass and on the second four rockets were released. The pilot then asked, “Let me speak to Camp One.”
“Uh, Black Shark One, both Camp One and Two are down. They are assumed dead at this time.”
“Copy, assumed dead. Confirm the status of both and contact Colonel Dubow immediately. He wants a status report. I will remain overhead to assist if you still have problems.”
“Copy, Black Shark One. Wait a minute and let me check the condition of both.”
Slowly Sergeant Shubin stood and after a few minutes, other men stood. He made his way to the downed form of Colonel Popoff and saw he was dead. The men were all joking and clowning around now, knowing the sniper was dead, but Shubin was not so sure.
“You men get behind some cover and do it now. We have no idea if the snip—”
Esom's shot struck the Sergeant low and in the gut, the force of impact knocking him from his feet. Landing on the hard concrete of the highway, Shubin began screaming as the pain hit him.
A medic moved to him, grabbed his feet, intending to drag him behind a truck, which offered some safety. The Medic's throat exploded, with blood and gore spattering the road and men near him. As the medic bled out, the radio operator said, “Black Shark, that damned sniper has just killed two more of us. Uh, the Sergeant might still be alive, only I am not going out to get him.”
Suddenly, Shubin gave a great warbling scream as his feet kicked at the concrete and his back arched in pain.
“Unidentified voice, this is Black Shark One, get your heads down, I have two fast movers with napalm that will light up the woods for you.”
“Copy.” the radio man replied and then yelled, “Get down, napalm attack on the trees!”
Out of the clear skies came a pair of shiny jet aircraft diving for the woods. Just before the Private thought they would dive into the ground they pulled up and released two oblong containers each. The containers tumbled end over end until they entered the trees and were lost from view. A split second later, a giant wave of flames came from the trees and extended almost to the clearing before falling. Black dense smoke rose to the sky, as a fireball rolled inside itself.
The radio man, impressed by the fire, stood and said, “Thanks for the fire, I think it has cleared the sniper.”
“Do you have a condition for the other officer that is down?”
The radio man moved to Major Falin, checked him and said, “Dead. Both officers are dead and the Sergeant will be too, if we do not get a helicopter to remove him and soon.”
“Copy you need a medical evacuation for the Sergeant.”
Dubow was pissed as he stood beneath the four crosses with the remains of his men. He'd just lost two senior officers and a medic coming to look at the bodies, so his mood was sour. Sergeant Shubin was stabilized and was in an intensive care unit, his future unknown. The Sergeant might live, but the doctors claimed it was too early to know yet. He'd rounded up Sokol, drunk as usual, and made him come to see what his reprisals were doing to the Russian Army.
“Sokol, you will immediately stop killing Americans by any means except a gun. Shoot all the sonsofbitches you want, but no more burnings or crucifixions. Does your drunken mind understand me?”
“Yes, sir, I fully, uh, understand.” Sokol replied, his voice slurred.
“Why in the hell did the sniper kill Popoff, when it is you that needs shot? I am ordering you right now, no more drinking on duty at all, none. If I catch you drinking one more time on duty, you will either join the Americans in the gulag or you will simply disappear. Am I making myself clear to you?”
Snapping to attention, Sokol replied, “Clear, sir.”
Turning to Master Sergeant Turchin, Dubow yelled, “Move the men forward to recover the bodies of our comrades. Tell the men to watch for mines or booby-traps as they move, Sergeant!”
“Yes, sir. Okay men, you heard the Colonel, move toward the bod—”
At the word move, the men moved and there came a short scream, a wall of fire erupted, and one man fell to the ground. As his body jerked and danced wildly on the ground, Turchin yelled, “Keep your eyes open for mines, men, or you will end up like this man.” He pointed at the squirming soldier on the grasses.
A medic quickly looked the injured soldier over and said, “He is still alive, but not for long. His body is mangled to hell and back.”
“Kill his pain.” Turchin said, which everyone knew meant to put the man to death by injecting morphine.
“Sonofabitch!” Dubow yelled in anger, “How many more will the Americans kill! I grow tired of this damned cat and mouse game they play with me! They need to feel the might of Mother Russia! Sokol, get in my car and we will return to the base.” The Colonel turned and then moved toward his car.
Seeing Sokol hesitate, Dubow said, “Get in the damned car and do it now, Sokol!”
Sokol staggered forward, his benumbed mind already focusing on his next drink of vodka.
Esom had fired the shot at the Medic and then climbed down the tall oak he'd been shooting from. He picked up his pack and started running toward the clearing. The guns and rockets had missed him and in a typical sniper setup, he'd shot the Sergeant and then waited for others to come to his aid. There had been times in the past, when he'd killed five or six trying to rescue a wounded man. Usually, he ended up killing the wounded man too, but the aircraft were getting too close, so it was time to move.
He was within ten feet of the clearing when he heard high pitched whine of jet engines, looked over his shoulder and saw two jets release Napalm. The two oblong aluminum containers were flipping end over end and he knew he had to cover some distance. Knowing the Russian soldiers would have their heads down, Esom ran as fast as he could over the open field, praying he'd reach the other side before all oxygen close to the fire was sucked into the flames. He made it, but just barely. His heart was beating loud and hard, because it was the closest to death he'd been in a long time, as he entered another patch of woods and made his way toward the garage. The dense black smoke was seen over his shoulders for miles.
As he moved, he thought, Not a bad day of shooting. I bagged a Full Colonel, a Major, a Sergeant, and a medic. I think the Russians have learned to respect our sni
pers. He then broke into a slow trot he could keep up most of the day and smiled.
Back at Camp Edwards, Dubow called an emergency staff meeting with all his senior men, officers and Sergeants. As with all staff meetings, each commander gave a short talk of how his particular unit was doing.
The hospital commander, a Lieutenant Colonel, stood, moved to the front of the room and said, “Since my last briefing, the Private that was horribly burned in the helicopter crash has died. Additionally, Major Rusak was discovered early yesterday morning by one of our ground patrols and recovered with some of his men. All are hospitalized at this moment, with the Major suffering from extreme exhaustion, Senior Sergeant Koslov has a deep cut to his left thigh, and Private Orlov has a shattered shoulder wound as a result of a bullet. Privates Arent, Baskov, Alkaev, are dead, bodies not recovered.”
Master Sergeant Turchin asked, “How did Koslov make Senior Sergeant? The last I heard and saw he was a Corporal, sir.”
“While working on the Major, he stated Koslov deserved a medal and a promotion for his actions during the initial ground attack and in the events that followed. Rusak said he could not guarantee a medal, but he could promote the man and did. He was—”
Colonel Dubow interrupted and said, “I want my chief of personnel to see if he is worthy of the Hero of the Russian Federation Medal and if so, prepare the paperwork for submission. If not, see he is awarded the medal right below it in importance. While we are losing our asses in this country, we need to show our people that we still have brave men.”
“I will see to it as soon as this meeting is over, sir.” a thin lanky Captain replied.
“Now, take your seat, doctor, and let me explain the real reason for this meeting. As of today, actually a couple of hours ago, we no longer have Colonel Popoff or Major Falin with us. Both were killed by a sniper less than five miles from this room. Both died almost instantly, but it leaves me with no gulag commander and no executive officer. I want Lieutenant Colonel Bunin to take over as the camp commander until Moscow either approves my recommendation for his promotion to Full Colonel, or sends me a replacement. Captain Taras, you will step up into the executive officers position and I have the authority to make your promotion effective immediately. As of right now, you are promoted to the rank of Major. Are there any questions?”
There were no questions, so Dubow waited a few minutes, took a sip of water from his glass and then said, “Okay, let me switch subjects on all of you and discuss our current problems with the resistance. They are starting to embarrass us greatly and this morning we found some of our men crucified, mocking the crucifixions that were done to 100 prisoners by Colonel Sokol and his men a while back. I will not put up with the resistance any longer. I want my special units to prepare for an active part in our struggle.
Tomorrow morning, if the weather is favorable, I want some type of toxic chemical agent dropped in all unpopulated areas. I do not care how many civilians we kill, but the partisans must be hurt badly by this. Now, we have used gas before, but I now want patrols out, before we drop the gas, but with the gear necessary for them to safely do their jobs. This war is about to turn mean, gentlemen, and ugly.”
Looking at his aircraft maintenance commander, Dubow asked, “How many broken aircraft do you have, Colonel?”
Pulling a clipboard open, the man quickly replied, “Sir, as of right now, I have eighteen flyable aircraft, including helicopters and fixed wing, three down for routine maintenance, and two with serious problems, both being engines.”
“Sir, just a quick question, if I may?” Colonel Walsky, chief of special units, asked.
“Ask your question, Colonel, and let us get back to aircraft status.”
“My troops, as you know, are made up of both men and women. I guess I do not really have a question, so much as wanting to point out, this will be the first possible combat for my female troops. I would like to suggest we milk these missions for all the propaganda we can, sir.”
“Fine, Colonel, send a damned cameraman out with them. Is that all?”
Suddenly flushed, Walsky replied, “Uh, yes, sir.”
Turning back to his aircraft maintenance officer, Dubow said, “Now, continue with what you are going to do to get as many aircraft into the air tomorrow to deliver our chemical attack.”
An hour after sunrise, six large Ilyushin Il-28 medium bombers took off from the old Jackson international airport and flew toward Edwards at low altitudes. At exactly the same time, on Edwards airfield, eight Antonov An-12 aircraft, fitted with tanks holding a chemical agent, took off and moved south, the sun reflecting from their silver wings as they banked. The chemical war against the American resistance was entering a new and deadly stage.
The Antonov An-12 aircraft looked similar to the American version of a C-130 from years gone by and required a much shorter runway than the big bombers. While the Ilyushin Il-28 bombers were classified as medium, they needed a much larger landing surface than the prop driven An-12.
Once airborne, the overall commander, Colonel Dubow, reminded each aircraft of the grid they were assigned to fly. As the aircraft separated and approached their targets, the Colonel was wearing a smile. He was smart enough to know many of his enemies had chemical gear and he'd not kill all of them, but he'd surely catch many of them unprepared and some would die. His goal was to reduce the numbers of the resistance and nothing more.
On the ground below, a woman working her garden looked up at the aircraft and pulled her three children close. She found it strange that rain drops were falling and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Suddenly, her youngest fell to the ground and began convulsing violently. Her little body flipped and flopped in all directions, but by now, the other two were also on the ground, mirroring her fatal actions. The woman screamed and realized the Russians had dropped something poisonous on them! She fell to the ground and as her world faded, she was thinking of her children. A few minutes later, all four of them were dead—all huddled together.
Five hours later, with most of the countryside sprayed, the Colonel gave orders for the aircraft to return home. He was hot; wearing the chemical | biological suit was always hot and the protective mask was no cooler. However, he was sure his little surprise visit would kill partisans and that was his only goal.
No sooner had the aircraft touched down and the brakes applied than the Colonel noticed all base personnel in their protective gear. He smiled and said to his co-pilot, “Please take control now, Captain, and taxi us to the our parking spot.”
Shortly after arriving at his office there came a knock on his door, so the Colonel opened it and asked, “Yes, Corporal?” He was still in his protective gear and expected to be for at least forty-eight hours.
From the Corporal came a muffled response, “Colonel Bunin to see you, sir.”
“Show him in.” Dubow moved to his desk and sat.
Colonel Bunin walked into the room, wearing his protective gear, and when about three feet from the commanders desk, stopped, and rendered a near perfect salute, as he said, “I wish to speak with you, sir.”
“Misha, pull up a chair and be seated. I would offer you a drink, but it is hard to sip vodka while wearing a mask. Now, what can I do for you?”
“This poisonous gas of yours has killed over half of my prisoners, sir. Now their deaths mean little to me, but I wanted you to know, and by daylight, I expect all of them to be dead.”
“How many are still alive?”
“Close to two thousand.”
“The late Colonel Popoff,” Dubow said with a laugh, “was always complaining about the crowded conditions of the gulag. I do not see that as a problem in the near future, Colonel.”
“Okay, but keep that in mind, sir, if you come after prisoners to shoot tomorrow. I fully expect it to be empty by morning.”
Standing, Dubow asked, “Anything else, Colonel?”
Bunin said, “No, sir, just wanted you to know what was going on.” Seeing his commander standing, the
Lieutenant Colonel stood as well.
“Get on the phone to Jackson and let them know your shortage of hostages. Have them send, oh, say a couple thousand next week. I am sure they are crowded and will be pleased to send you all you want, Misha.”
Knowing he was being dismissed, Bunin extended a gloved hand and said, “Thanks for the idea on getting more prisoners, sir.”
“No problem, and let us hope by morning we have much more than just dead prisoners. I did not spray almost half of the state of Mississippi to end up with only dead captives. Enjoy your evening, Colonel.” the commander said as he shook hands.
CHAPTER 16
John and his cell were way down in the southern part of the state, almost at the Lousiana border when the chemical attack occurred. Of course, they were not affected by the chemical attack, but John was thankful they were not up north when the attack happened. The last time the Russians used chemicals, it had almost killed Dolly. A dispatch rider, on a captured Russian motorcycle had brought word and it had spread like wildfire to all the partisan camps.
As they sat in the dirt, deep in a swamp, Tom suddenly asked, “Why did the Russians decide to use gas now, knowing good and well that it would kill the prisoners at the gulag and put their own personnel at risk?”
“Willy once told me that Russians don't think like we do and to never assume everything they do has an obvious reason. They place little value on human life and their goal in war is to win, period. They'll do anything to win, even violate the laws of the civilized world, or lose hundreds of thousands of their soldiers.”
“Hell,” Esom said, scratched his beard and continued, “there ain't a United Nations anymore and no laws to violate. When we fell, the U.N. busted up and scattered in the wind in less than a month. We were footing the biggest percentage of the bills for the whole damn organization. As for them losing soldiers, I'll do my best to kill 'em.”
“I'm talking about the moral laws of the world.”
“Okay, but it's like a man and honor, some don't have any and never will. What the Russians don't understand is, everytime they use gas or kill a bunch of us, we grow stronger in unity and support. Our uninvited guests are here on borrowed time and eventually we'll kick their asses out.”